Prologue

Like most evenings, my mistress relaxed in her study after dinner. It was a cozy room, with an armchair on one wall and a leather couch on the other. The remainder of the room’s wall space was spent on bookshelves. Here the mistress kept her favorite volumes, along with reams of loose paper written with both the old and new languages. Central to the room was a large writing desk, though its legs were cut short so she could sit at it. On the far wall were three bay-style windows, which would have given a view of the lake if it were daytime.

The study’s door hung open. I stepped to the threshold, tapped one knuckle on the door beside me.

“Come in,” she said.

She stood facing out the window, hands folded behind her back as she stared out into the icy blackness. Her wings stood up and out from her back, occluding part of the windows. She wore a heavy dress, covering all but her head and hands.

She looked back at me, and she smiled.

“Sakuya?” she said. “Come to spend time with an old shorty on a blustery winter evening?”

Remilia was indeed short, but she didn’t look old. Appearances are deceiving.

I gave a slight bow. “If I’m not imposing.”

“Of course you’re not,” she said. “One of these days, you’ll realize I enjoy your company. You even brought tea.”

I came in and set the tea tray down on the desk, careful not to disturb her stationery. She put a hand on the kettle, then pulled it back to keep from burning herself.

“Didn’t cool at all between the kitchen and here, did it?”

“It had no time to.”

I poured a cupful for both of us. Remilia took her cup and its saucer, then went to the couch and sat with her legs curled up beneath her.

“No one was upset about dinner, in case you were wondering,” she said. “We knew you were doing the best anyone could do, considering what we have left.”

I took my own teacup and saucer, but I remained standing.

“They were upset,” I said, “but not at me. China and Flandre in particular, they’ll be even more upset tomorrow. Tonight was the last of our meat. We’ve got some preserved fruits and veggies, and two bags each of rice and beans, but that’s it. We’re running out of food.”

Remilia’s smile faded as I was talking. Her brow bunched up.

“How has it gotten that bad?” she said.

“We’ve never needed to stock for this long of a winter before,” I said. “I didn’t know that I wouldn’t be able to shop as late as May. I did visit the village once before the snows got this heavy, but all the stores and stands were closed.”

Remilia looked down. Her scarlet eyes darted back and forth. That’s one of her mannerisms when running through a quick question-and-answer in her head.

“The farmers haven’t been able to plant a single seed,” she said. “Everyone must be treating food like an emergency resource.”

“So we’re not the only ones who have been rationing,” I said. “Basically all of Gensokyo is.”

Remilia nodded, then she looked up to meet my eyes.

“How long do we have?” she said.

I took a deep breath. “Maybe two weeks, if we keep eating light.”

“That’s not long.”

“No, Mistress.”

Remilia stood, went over to the desk and set her teacup on the tray. She stepped up to the windows, staring out as she had when I came in.

“Two weeks will sure feel like a long time,” she said, “when we’ve got nothing to eat but beans and rice.”

“The weather has to turn soon,” I said. “Long winters have happened before.”

“This is more than a long winter, Sakuya.” She pointed out the window. “This is not a springtime flurry. It’s snowing more now than it did in January.”

She hadn’t taken a sip of her tea yet, so I set mine down beside hers.

“Mistress, I need to ask something delicate, if I’m not being too forward.”

She said nothing, but she looked at me via her reflection in the black mirror of the window.

“I’ve grown up around youkai,” I said, “so I should know the answer to this, but we’ve never run out of food before. So please tell me: are youkai able to starve to death?”

Remilia snorted.

“We certainly can. For the most part, anything that can kill a human can also kill a youkai. It just takes a lot more of that thing. How much more depends on the individual youkai. It would take a lot less blunt force trauma to kill a fairy than it would to kill China, for instance.”

“So the rest of you could live without food longer than me.”

“Yes, and if that were the only consideration, then I’d insist that you be the only one allowed to eat if our supplies dwindle too much further.”

“I know that’s not the only consideration,” I said. “I’ve seen what happens when Flandre hasn’t eaten for six hours. I can imagine how bad she’d be after fasting for days.”

“I’ve never faced hunger like that before, but I suspect Flan wouldn’t be the only one. Your housemates might turn into a den of vicious monsters, each of us fighting to rip the others apart.”

Silence hung on us, except for the barely-audible ticking of snow grains hitting the exterior of the windows.

“We can’t let that happen,” I said.

“I haven’t given up hope yet.” Remilia looked back at me. “I should show you something.”

---

Remilia turned and went back to her desk. She pulled open a drawer, then took out a new light source. She held a small glass jar, its neck plugged with a piece of cork. Resting inside the jar was a little pink flake, glowing bright like ten hot wood embers concentrated into one. It cast a new layer of shadows around the room.

I stared at the bottle, narrowing my eyes against the light coming from within.

“What is that?” I said. “Some kind of magic?”

“Some kind, certainly.” Remilia set the bottle on her desk, then sat behind it. “China found it by the front gate a few days ago, just as this storm rolled in. She said it came fluttering down with the snow. She brought it in to Patchouli, who thought it volatile and bottled it. Patchouli analyzed it herself, then brought it to me.”

I picked up the bottle, taking a closer look at the pink thing inside. It was paper thin and smaller than a coin.

“It looks like a glowing cherry petal,” I said.

“I thought so too,” said Remilia. “Just like the millions of sakura that should be in bloom all around Gensokyo right now.”

“What did Patchouli have to say about it?” I set the bottle down, blinking the afterimage from my eyes.

“A lot. You know her. I’ll give you the condensed version. Do you know why the four seasons happen?”

“I think so. We orbit the sun, but not in a perfect circle. We’re farther away sometimes, and that’s winter. We’re closer at other times, and that’s summer.”

“Patchouli has a valid complaint about your study habits.” Remilia smiled, showing her sharp incisors. “It’s true we’re in an elliptical orbit, but the difference in distance means nothing. It’s the angle of sunlight that matters, or that’s how it’s supposed to work.”

She picked up the jar, twisting it around in one hand. Pink light spread over her face, interrupted by the shadows of her fingers.

“Gensokyo follows its own rules,” she said. “Patchouli tells me that magic doesn’t exist outside the Boundary, and I find it hard to imagine how our nature can be so different from theirs. It makes me think that the Boundary isn’t really a boundary. It’s not a border. It’s a separation... a gap.”

I shook my head. “I’m not following.”

Remilia set the glass down, leaned back in her chair. “If we were part of the outside world, long winters like this wouldn’t happen. The laws of physics would bring us to summer, but that’s not how it works in Gensokyo. The energy that magicians manipulate is the same that controls our cycles of night and day, rain and shine, birds and bees, summer and winter. In theory, a powerful-enough mage could alter those.”

“I’m no expert, but it would probably take an elementalist far more powerful than Patchouli to stop the very seasons from changing.”

“There’s no magician alive today who wields so much power, at least not that we know of. The closest we’ve ever seen is Flandre’s suicide attempt last summer. If she had been allowed to keep the sky covered for months,” Remilia hooked a thumb over her shoulder, pointing to the black windows behind her, “it might look something like this. She never got that far, thanks to some outside help.”

I tensed. I didn’t want to think about last year’s incident. That matter was best left closed and forgotten.

“We should seek help again,” said Remilia. “Call for our allies. Put our heads together and figure out what to do.”

She hopped off her chair, walked around her desk and stood before me. “I have a big favor to ask of you, Sakuya.”

I swallowed. I didn’t want to hear this.

“I need you to bring Reimu here.”

My jaw was clenched. I had to force myself to keep breathing, and I felt my heartbeat thud in my ears.

“Why?”

It was all I could say without screaming into my mistress’s face. I wanted nothing to do with that miko.

“Because I’m asking,” she said. “Because she lives in Gensokyo too, and because she helped us once before when we had no power to help ourselves. You remember; you were there.”

I did remember. Those two days, I had tried hardest to forget. The dirty shrine maiden came storming into my home, wrapped up blood-soaked bandages. She and her irritating witch friend, with the empty blonde head and ear-grating voice, had nearly murdered the two people closest to me.

At this moment, I realized how much I hated those two. I wanted to put knives into them.

I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, tried to ignore the rage within. I couldn’t entertain those thoughts. That was a different life.

“I don’t know if I can,” I said, opening my eyes. “No one’s traveling anywhere in this weather.”

“Patchouli can handle that. She’ll write up some spellcards and get some outdoor gear enchanted. Most types of wild youkai won’t be roaming around in the cold. The Hakurei Shrine is two days away by foot, so the going won’t be easy. But if we equip you well, you’ll make it.”

“Why me?” I said. “If I leave—”

She cut me off. “The mansion will be less clean for a few days, but we’ll survive. Somebody has to go. You’re tougher than Patchouli, and you’re smarter than China. Koa’s too frail for weather like this. Flandre away from my supervision is out of the question, and I can’t take her with me. So that leaves you.”

Remilia took the glass jar off the table, held it up to me. The spring petal fluttered inside, soon settling back to the bottom.

“Take this with you. If you happen to meet Marisa while you’re there, have her look at it. See if she comes up with anything different than Patchouli did.”

“Y-yes.” I pushed the word out. I took the jar, holding it loose in one hand. “Yes, Mistress.”

Remilia regarded me, silent. She took my hand and tugged down on my arm. The gesture meant she wanted me to lean down to her, which I did mechanically.

“I can tell you don’t want to do this,” she said.

“Mistress, I wouldn’t—”

She put a finger on my lips, quieting me.

“Hush. For what it’s worth, I’ll miss you. Each minute you’re gone, I’ll worry. I’ll hate myself for sending you away, no matter how necessary it was.” She closed her eyes, put her forehead to mine. “We’ll be here with open arms when you return.”